


A Cure

by hazeyghosts



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazeyghosts/pseuds/hazeyghosts
Summary: Julian continues, “I haven’t seen her in a while, I have a question.”“Uh,” The doctor gives Julian a concerned look, which he does not see for a moment, “You haven’t heard?” Julian eyes leave his papers.“Heard what?” Julian wonders, his thoughts of research beginning to leave his mind.“Asra stopped by this morning, he said she’s been taken to Quarantine F. She’s to go to the Lazaret tomorrow evening.”





	A Cure

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long since I've written fanfic, and I think the first angsty fanfic ever? Started out as a short drabble, but might turn it into something longer. :))))))

“Have you seen Anthea?” Exiting the dungeon’s stairwell, into the library, Julian speaks to his only colleague in the room. Julian glares at a few pages in his hands as he asks the questions, not bothering to look up at the other doctor.  
When the doctor doesn’t reply, Julian continues, “I haven’t seen her in a while, I have a question.”  
“Uh,” The doctor gives Julian a concerned look, which he does not see for a moment, “You haven’t heard?” Julian eyes leave his papers.  
“Heard what?” Julian wonders, his thoughts of research beginning to leave his mind.  
“Asra stopped by this morning, he said she’s been taken to Quarantine F. She’s to go to the Lazaret tomorrow evening.”  
Julian’s stomach drops with the papers that flutter to the rug.  
“What?” His head shakes, unbelieving of what he’s just heard.  
“I’m sorry, Julian, I thought you knew.”  
“She- She can’t be,” Julian’s gaze whisked around the room, looking for answers he didn’t have. “I just saw her-”  
“She hasn’t been in in almost two days, Julian.”  
Julian has no more words to reply with.  
A moment later, he’s rushed past the doctor and out the library door, sprinting down the hallway.  
He runs out the palace, not even seeing any of the familiar faces surprised by him as he passes. Not thinking for anything but Anthea, he doesn’t consider a carriage or a horse. He runs the somewhat familiar route to the hospital turned quarantine.  
Nearing the building, he almost doesn’t spot Asra walking solemnly in the opposite direction. He sprints past, barely recognizing the displeasure on the magician’s face.  
Julian throws the main door open, to a small hall with few staff inside, all clothed head to foot in protective gear.  
“Sir, you have to leave!” One nurse comes towards him, “You’ll get sick!”  
“I’m a doctor! You have to let me through!” They do their best to restrict him, but Julian manages to open the second door.  
“Sir!”  
“I’m a doctor!” Once through the door, the nurses concede. There’s not much they can do now.  
The larger room holds rows of beds, almost all filled with sickly bodies. He stops in the doorway, catching his breath as he searches for that telltale head of golden hair.  
She lays in the back, her body curled up around a blanket.  
Julian rushes to her side, she doesn’t open her eyes until she feels a cool hand on hers.  
“Julian?” She lifts her head slightly, “You shouldn’t be here. You could get sick.”  
At first, he can’t speak. He kneels next to her cot, her face is sweaty and pink, damp hairs cling to her face. His hand goes to caress her overly heated cheek.  
“Anthea, love,” Her reddened eyes stare up at him, a soft smile tugging at her face. Tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, “I’m so sorry.”  
“What are you sorry for?”  
He scoffs. No matter what he did, even this, she couldn’t see his faults, could she.  
“I’m sorry… I -I had no idea you were even sick,” A tear drops down his cheek, “I’m so sorry, I was so wrapped up in my work, I forgot you. The most important thing in my life. I’m sorry I haven’t found a cure. If I was better-”  
“Julian,” He stops lamenting at the sound of his name. Such a beautiful sound, that he realizes he will never hear again.  
“Finding a cure for the city, that’s much more important than paying me any attention. You don’t need to be sorry.” Anthea’s shaky hand reaches out to him, his tears fall more freely, but he refuses to look away from her.  
“No, I should have known something was wrong. I should have- I almost didn’t get to … to say goodbye.”  
Anthea manages to wipe some of the tears from his face. He leans into her touch.  
“I love you. And I know you love me. That’s all I need, Julian.”  
“I’ll find the cure, my love. I will. You won’t leave. Please, believe me.”  
“Sir, if you stay any longer, you’ll have to be quarantined, as well.” The nurse, accompanied by a larger man comes up behind Julian to interrupt.  
“Go, Julian,” Anthea lets go of his hand, “I believe in you. And I forgive you for every blunder, my dear, I’ll forgive you if you make another.”  
Julian stands, the man begins to escort him away, “I won’t.”  
The doctor leaves the quarantine area without another incident, but he looks back once more. She watches him leave, her loving smile still present, almost beckoning him back. But he can’t.  
Once outside, he jogs, then quickly breaks into a run back to the palace. The sky is beginning to darken when he re-enters the palace. He doesn’t give up his pace until he reaches the library.  
He retrieves the papers from the library floor before returning to the dungeons.  
Most of his colleagues have left for the night, only a few remain. Most who have similar incentives to his, plus Valdemar, who he avoids like the plague itself.

Julian holes himself up in his cell of an office. Books cover almost every inch of the room. His notes become even more illegible than usual. Sleep tugs at his eyes, but he presses on.  
After hours of dreariness, he realizes he must have been awake for nearly three days straight. But the thought of Anthea landing on the sands of the Lazaret keeps him from even considering the comfort of his bed.  
He elects to return to the library for more volumes and to seek out a large mug of coffee.  
In the library, mid morning sun shines through the glass between shelves. His time is running out. He looks to the rows of books.  
In search of another tome, he doesn’t hear approaching steps.  
“Doctor Jules,” His skin crawls at that loathsome sound. He’s reminded of the only time he enjoyed the name, Anthea mocking the Count behind closed doors. His heart lurches at the memory and he reluctantly turns to face the sneer behind him.  
Lucio’s brows raise, and a grin slips over his face.  
“I hope you’ve been making progress. We wouldn’t want that pretty little assistant of yours to be another failure, would we?”  
Julian refuses to reply, his tired eyes go to the carpet.  
“Of course, if she does, I’ll be here to comfort you in ANY way you need.” His grin widens as he winks.  
Again, Julian doesn’t have the energy to speak.  
“I really hope you make a breakthrough soon, Doctor Jules,” His tone is.. Almost playing innocent, “You’re not looking too well.”  
“What do you mean?”  
Lucio points to the modest mirror hanging at the end of a self.  
Without a word, Julian peers into the mirror.  
A gasp leaves his mouth, his hand reaches up to his right eye, turned a bright, deadly red.

Lucio commands Julian to be locked in his office. A steaming mug is presented to him, as he wished, and he is shut away from the rest of the world.  
The first sip reminds his delirious mind of countless mornings waking up to Anthea. Laying in bed as long as possible before reluctantly leaving the sheets to solve a hungry belly. He basks in the memory, wanting it to go on, to be real.  
He has to shake it from his mind and focus on his notes. He has to focus so he can see another morning just like that.

The minutes bleed together, as do his notes. His slouch deepens, his eyelids droop as he tries to fight off weariness and the sickness while working.  
He fails to recall how he got to such a darkened hill, his surroundings barely illuminated by a red lamppost. Just as he wonders what the time is, a figure distracts him.  
The lamp lights up the large head of a raven on a feathered, human body.  
Neither speaks for a moment, staring cautiously at the other.  
“Where am I?”  
“Do you not know me?” The bird man wonders, no expression to give away his thoughts.  
“The Hanged Man.”  
The raven nods graciously.  
Julian pauses, wrestling with what to say, what to ask.  
“How do I stop the plague?”  
“Stop it? Or cure it?”  
“Ah- Are those different goals?” Julian is taken aback. The fever is lesser in this realm, he begins to consider things more carefully.  
“They are.”  
“What stops it? Is something causing it? Is there an actual cure?”  
The Hanged Man is unresponsive for a moment before he concedes to Julian’s ramblings, “All your patients die within days of contracting this illness. Save for one. I wonder why that is.”  
“Lucio. Lucio? Are you saying he’s responsible? How?”  
Again, the raven is quiet.  
“Did he make a deal with you?”  
“Not with me. But he’s made enough and they’ve caught up with him.”  
“So, killing him will end the plague.” Julian lets out a scoff, he throws his hands up in a dramatic fashion, “Of course, that bastard is responsible for this.”  
Julian returns his sight to the Hanged Man, “How do I cure it.”  
“That’s the tricky part.”  
Julian’s heart stops, “There’s- Is there no cure?”  
“What would you be willing to give up to create one?”  
“Anything. What do you want? I will give my life if need be,” Julian pleads, “She needs to live.”  
“Nothing so drastic, you need to live to provide the cure, after all. However, there are few other things equal to this gift.”  
“Name it.”  
“I will give you the the ability to heal. You will take any injury into yourself and heal until it’s gone. You and patient will live. In return, I need the most important thing.”  
Julian’s breath catches as he waits.  
“The memory of the one you love most.”  
“Thea. No. No, No! I need to cure her!”  
The Hanged Man raises a hand to stop him, “If you insist, I will leave her name so you can find her, her face so you recognize her. When you wake, you will know to seek her out and heal her. But you will not remember her.”  
This is hell. Julian cannot imagine not knowing her. Not remembering her jokes, or her laugh, or her worries and wants, or how she makes him feel. But knowing she will live. That’s what matters. He only delays a moment.  
“Deal.”

Julian wakes suddenly hunched over his desk.  
Anthea.  
“I have the cure.” He speaks quietly at first, then begins to shout. He runs to the door, he shakes the bars of the small window, “I have the cure! Let me out! I need to cure her!”  
One doctor rushes over, an excited, but hesitant smile on her face. She quickly opens the lock, ready to hear his findings, “Julian, wha-”  
Before she can ask him a single thing, he’s rushing from the dungeon and up the stairs, two, three at a time.  
The thought of going to kill Lucio comes into his mind. But that can wait, Anthea needs to be healed.  
He remembers rushing from the palace just as he is now, but he can’t recall why. He ignores shouts from friends and curses from shoved strangers as he runs through the hallways.  
Into the city he goes, he doesn’t question how he knows to go to Quarantine F.  
“Julian!” He continues running, almost to the quarantine, “JULIAN!” He stops at the door, and finally listens to the voice.  
Behind him, Asra jogs to catch up to the doctor.  
“Asra! Anthea, where is she?”  
“Julian, your eye!”  
“It’s fine, where is she. I need to find her.”  
“She wanted me to tell you, she still forgives you,” Asra says, pointedly.  
“Why? What fo-”  
“But I don’t.” Asra glares at him. He’s never known Asra to be so filled with hatred.  
But there’s no time.  
“Where is she?!”  
“On her way to the Lazaret. Don’t you pay attention to anything important?” He scowls, “The sun’s almost down.”  
Lazaret.  
Julian abandons Asra in front of the quarantine, and hurries to the docks. Praying that he makes it in time to cure her.  
The sandy terrain slows him down, but he does not stop running. Not until the docks are in his sights.  
Empty.  
His head turns to the isle of the Lazaret.  
Smoke clouds the horizon.  
He drops to his knees in the sand. He stares, unable to understand. His heart tells him to mourn, his mind doesn’t know what for.


End file.
